There were moments like this, of burning in the eyes and descending, deliberately, like a drag of smoke, down the throat. Until they reached the feet, making them hop, like upon embers. Moments of attempt, with the sense fixed, and even slightly glaring, ahead, to fly – to somewhere, away from all that crackling, crippling wings and songs in the same way, as if the horizon were, all of it, enclosed in an egg and the egg enclosed nothing but ashes. And yet, there was something, in those moments, beyond them, and maybe it came to them from outside, through translucent points in the blind shell – or maybe from within, from a primordial core, that, through the viscosity of boiling, suffocating mud, would light, in time, a possible hatching. It was necessary to reply – and the synonym was the choice, that would become, in the next moment, conformity or contradiction. Or... ah, yes, or another way, that wasn’t, even, a reply. And she didn’t even choose that one, when it simply came. The next moment, which, in its own time, became the moment that there was. She was born, then, liberated. And took flight, naturally. Below, far away, shell and ashes, interchangeable and simple sediments of what, naturally, has been. And above... nothing, yet, or everything, in the air, interchangeable and simple, of what naturally becomes, as one breathes. There was only that moment, now. And she wasn’t even surprised when she glided, naturally, in perfect harmony, as, eyes, throat, feet, whole, she plunged into it.

- Text & image © Alexandra Oliveira (OneLight*®) in “Windows to (somewhere) within” - All rights reserved